


Ariadne's Thread and Theseus's Ship

by LotusFlair



Series: A Series of Archival Speculations [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Logic, Not Canon Compliant, Philosophy, mazes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-26 07:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: Jon has a nice think on logic and philosophy as he journeys to the center of the maze.





	Ariadne's Thread and Theseus's Ship

"Another dead end it would seem, Archivist." Helen said gleefully as they stared at yet another closed off segment of the tunnels. He'd assumed when Helen said she could navigate the maze beneath the Magnus Institute that she was capable of leading them directly to the center. Thinking back on it, that was the first mistake. She was the Spiral, the Distortion of logic and sanity with an indeterminate amount of humanity left from her previously human host. 

His second mistake was asking, "Then why are you smiling?"

"Because I'm delighted by our progress," she said as the smile curved unnaturally around her head. "Another arm down, so many left to be explored."

"At this rate the Minotaur will have died of old age," John muttered. He had no idea if this approach would work. Peter and Martin were headed towards the center to claim whatever weapon would serve to stop the Extinction, but there was a nagging thought that continually tugged at his mind: What was at the center? He recognized it as the Eye preying upon his naturally curious inclinations, but there was the additional motive of keeping Martin safe and, above all else, alive. He trusted Martin, but that was as far as that trust would go. Nobody else involved in this world of fear and chaos was allowed to have the benefit of the doubt and there was a part of him that regretted giving it to Martin at all. Being separated only worsened the fragile hold they had on each other and Jon easily saw himself slipping away in the aftermath if Martin didn't survive. 

When they came to another dead end and backtracked again, Jon realized with sudden clarity that Helen wasn't so much navigating as eliminating options. As he fell in step with her down the next stretch, he tried not to think about the time being wasted, but instead focused on one of his old philosophy classes from university. Before working at the Institute, Jon thought he'd end up as a professor of logic and rhetoric. He was good at it, an analytical mind and a penchant for persuasive argument despite his sour disposition towards most people. Another life, perhaps. One of the many strategies they explored was Ariadne's Thread - problem solving through an exhaustive, yet thorough, application of logic to all possible options. It was particularly helpful when dealing with mazes and puzzles, but Jon never thought he'd have to ponder it within a literal maze. Georgie would joke about the emotional maze he had to navigate in most social situations, especially when they went out for drinks with her friends in the Communications department. The youthful and naive Jon scoffed at the remark, once upon a time, but the haggard and world weary Archivist saw the wisdom in her words now more than ever.

The last three years had catapulted him into a world that refused to let him gain his bearings. Every turn took him further and further away from his center until he couldn't remember what had been there in the first place. Most days he was lost, buried in statements and paralyzed by fear of the outside world and his ability to cause it harm. Occasionally, though, there would be a moment of calm when his thoughts turned to the fight ahead and the survival of those he cared for. It was in those moments that he felt his connection to the Eye lessen and the world shifted upright just enough to give him balance as he plotted yet another possible escape. The fleeting surges of activity exhausted what reserves he had left, but it was worth it to know that his friends - that Martin - might survive long enough to win their freedom. 

"I should've brought some string," he continued to mutter as they walked. It would have been easier to mark their progress and it would have made him feel more confident that Helen wasn't just taking them down the same tunnel over and over again. They kept walking, the sound of their footsteps - did Helen's feet even make a sound anymore? - and the direction of their current route barely registering as his thoughts cancelled out all other senses. Thinking about Martin made him think about thread. Thinking about thread made his chest ache. There was a sensation, a pinprick over his heart that grew with each step. He rubbed at it, massaging his chest to push it away, but it insisted on staying regardless of his ministrations. Another wound? Another scar to add to the collection? How many more would he get before there was nothing left to destroy and rebuild?

It seemed fitting that his mind was on Greek mythology. He'd started in the maze, Ariadne was providing them with their strategic approach, and now Theseus had shown up to save the day with his ship. Or was it his ship anymore? Was it the components that made it or was it the label? Another uni philosophical argument with unforeseeable real world applications. He'd ruminated on his identity and humanity with Helen on a metaphysical level, but what about the purely physical? Was Jonathan Sims the entirety of his mind and body or was he just a vessel labeled accordingly until it had run out of usefulness? Jane Prentiss and her worms had eaten their way into him, Jude Perry had practically burned the flesh from his hand, Jared Hopworth was the owner of one of his ribs, and he'd been blown up in the presence of the Stranger. But he was still here, still a body and mind calling itself Jonathan Sims as it walked towards the center of the unknown. Was that it? Was it that simple?

The sensation over his heart flared suddenly, leaving him breathless. He stopped, wondering if he was having a heart attack. Wouldn't that just be hilarious to have made it this far and die of something so...trivial. Taking stock of himself, he couldn't feel any new marks or wounds. There was no pain to isolate, just a dull tug he tried to ignore. It was his third bad decision as the tug tightened its grip, pulling him to his feet and leading him as if by...an invisible thread.

He realized then that he hadn't heard Helen speak for a while, not even to say they had to turn back. He was walking, but it was only when he became aware of his surroundings again that he realized his eyes had been closed the whole time. He stopped again despite the insistent pull. When he opened his eyes he sensed rather than saw Helen make up the distance to join him. He'd been in the lead the whole time.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"You said you needed some thread," she offered. "In my experience, thread is quite fragile. It breaks easily if you're not careful."

"How close are we?"

"Close enough. Not too far to go now that we have the right line."

Jon nodded with more enthusiasm than he had any right to feel. He might be an unmoored ship, but he had a line of thread to guide him.

He just had to follow it to find his center.


End file.
